My name is Dave and I'm gay
by Fueled By Dr. Pepper
Summary: A speculative look at what might be going on for Dave Karofsky outside McKinley High.  Harsh language used. Please read preceding author's note.  2529 words.


**A/N: This was a really hard piece to write. The Kraofskys, to me, have to be hateful people. (It's how I believe Dave got strayed so far.) It would be tough to get their words right without feeling disgusted. Maybe they seem like caricatures but similar people do exist and as it has been said, not every dad is Burt Hummel. I apologize, still, for the hurtful words used. This is not to glorify them, but to condemn the people who overlook the use of them.

* * *

**"Faggot!"

Dave winced and turned to face his older brother.

"Look who's talking, you pussy."

The boys exchanged punches to the upper body before sitting down at the dinner table. The parents soon joined them in the room: their father sitting at the head of table while their mother set the dishes down.

"How are my men doing? Living up to the Karofsky name, I'm sure."

His brother grunted while Dave nodded.

"How was football practice, Davey?"

Dave bit into the piece of pork chop on his fork, "It was okay. Beiste works us hard but it's making us better."

The patriarch grunted.

"That dyke's still there?"

The older son chortled with his mouth full. Dave looked down at his plate.

"She's a good coach, sir."

Mrs. Karofsky sighed, "It's better than that damn glee club. With all their vulgarity."

There was a consensus of grunts. Food continued being shoveled into mouths.

"Is that fairy boy still on the team – Hummel's kid?"

Dave flashed back to the locker room. He coughed to cover his hesitation.

"No. It was just the one game. Artie Abrams is on the team now. He's doing pretty well."

"Which one is Artie, sweetie?"

"That little lame kid, Mom."

Dave looked at his brother. He was chugging water between bites.

"That cripple better not be weighing the team down. You boys need the recruiters to notice you."

Dave shrugged, "He's scored for us in every game already."

It was Mr. Karofsky's turn to sigh.

"Sometimes it's like this whole town is going to shit. Don't let them drag you to hell with them."

Dave wasn't eating anymore, just moving food around.

"I just hope it doesn't spread anymore. Isn't Finn Hudson in that club?"

Dave was ready to just leave. Something in him wanted to turn the table over and throw things at them and yell.

"A few guys are. Finn, Sam, Mike, Artie, Puck."

Mr. Karofsky laughed, "You think those Jews would have guilted that Puckerman kid into being more than a thug. Maybe they should just bribe him."

Mrs. Karofsky giggled, "Oh, honey," she noticed Dave's tight jaw, "Davey, are you feeling okay?"

"Like I said, Coach Beiste worked us hard."

"Get used to it. There won't be any fucking pansys in this house."

"I'm not a pansy."

Silence prevailed.

"You talking back to me, young man?"

Dave stabbed a piece of his meal with his fork.

"No, sir."

The old bigot stared at his younger son; he wouldn't tolerate much from his boys.

"You're done with that dinner. Go . . . rest."

Dave had no choice. He left his food and went to his room. In one way, it was nice to be away from them – the high standards, the intolerance, the belittlement. He sat there alone and wondered if that's all he would ever be. He wasn't like others; he wouldn't fit into their world. He was a fake – never getting to close to the people he surrounded himself with – and it meant a whole bunch of emptiness in his life.

"You ready to be a real man?"

"I hate you."

He could have been speaking to anyone: his family, his 'friends', Kurt Hummel, himself. This time, Dave was speaking to his father.

Mr. Karofsky did not appreciate the honesty. He grabbed the teen by the hair.

"I am the head of this household. You will respect me or I will remove you from the premises."

Dave clenched his teeth to get through it.

A minute passed, the man let go and left.

Finally, the boy allowed a few tears to fall. They kept coming. He thought of everything he hated about his life. He thought about what he really wanted from it.

He thought about the kiss.

Part of him focused on all the small details – the lips, the breath, the slow movements. Part of him kept slipping in the images of Kurt's face afterward – the horror, the disgust, the confusion. He got what he wanted but it wasn't enough to justify the costs.

His body wasn't paying attention to any of this. It reacted physically to the relived memories in a way he couldn't ignore. For a few moments, he set aside everything and satiated the one desire. No afterglow, just guilt followed.

He didn't sleep as much as he let himself go drifting into unconsciousness.

"Get up, bitch."

A sharp jab of a knee to his huddled form woke Dave.

"Why?"

His brother started to shove him, "Dad's got better things to do so I'm taking you to school before I head to campus for class."

"What am I supposed to do at school for the half hour before the day begins?"

"I don't know and I don't give a shit. I am in college and that takes priority over you."

"It's community college, you asshole."

The older sibling slapped the head still resting on the pillow.

"Then fucking walk."

He swiftly got up and left, leaving a pissed off Dave rubbing his head.

School was easy to float through once her gave up on everything. No expectations, no disappointments. He even managed to avoid Kurt successfully.

Then he saw him. Walking up the stairs Dave was going down, with another guy – a pretty boy like Kurt, probably gay, too.

"Excuse me."

From the silky lightness, Dave solidified his judgment. Another homo, his father would say.

"Hey, lady boys. This your boyfriend, Kurt?"

Please say no, his mind pleaded.

"Kurt and I would like to talk to you about something."

That wasn't a no. Rejection. Inferiority. It burned.

"I got to go to class."

This guy of Kurt's wouldn't let up, "Kurt told me what you did."

He urged himself to keep calm. To turn around and scare him away.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

Kurt sprang into the conversation.

"You kissed me."

Panic. Sheer panic. Dave glances around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's seems like you might be a little confused. And that's totally normal. This is a hard thing to come to terms with. You should just know you're not alone."

He wasn't alone? He was a misfit that camouflaged himself to survive. This guy had everything Dave wanted. What did he know about being alone?

"Do not mess with me."

He hadn't noticed he was charging the guy. This wasn't like any outburst before; he really wanted this guy to feel his pain.

Kurt was there. He shoved Dave away. Again.

"You have to stop this!"

There was that look. Like after each hit. Fear.

He had seen who Dave really was and he was still afraid of him.

Suddenly, Dave was afraid of himself. He ran. He didn't know where he was going but it was far away.

Even for delinquents, skipping class wasn't common. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do.

Dave settled for sitting on a bench at a bus stop near the campus. He had shoved his books and jacket into his locker before, so he could pass for a college-age kid with a free afternoon.

'You are not alone.'

The words taunted him. It had to be a lie. How could he be anything real when every part of him was a separate betrayal?

He needed something else to focus on. His eyes scanned the advertisements posted on the nearby telephone pole.

Dog grooming. Lawn care. Sales rep job.

'YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE'

It caught his attention.

A yellow sheet. A slogan. A number. An address.

Dave repeated it to himself a few times before ripping it off and stuffing it into his pocket just in case.

Staring at the building, Dave was caught. He had to make the choice – go back to the school and into his life before or go into this building and confront everything he suppressed. There didn't seem to be a winning side – he was going all in either way.

He reached the door and the terror of the unknown set in.

What if someone recognized him?

What if it got out what he was there for?

What if he wasn't messed up and he ruined everything for nothing?

What if he couldn't be fixed?

"Excuse me."

The voice was familiar and Dave's chest compressed in dread. He turned. It was no one he knew. He moved and let him pass.

He took a second to breathe and walked in. Looking around, it was just various groups of people talking. So far no one seemed identifiable to him.

"You seem a little lost, kid."

He turned and saw an older woman.

"I don't know if I am or not."

She smiled; it was warm and agreeable.

"If you don't know, you probably are."

Dave frowned. He wasn't sure he wanted to do this anymore but he was sure he couldn't turn back.

"Do you need to talk to someone?"

He nodded. She led him to the one office separate from the open room.

"So, what would you like to talk about?"

"I'm still not sure about that, either."

She nodded, picking up the hint.

"Well, just say what's on your mind. We'll go from there."

The young man adjusted his position in the seat.

"This is a small building."

The woman smiled; she was patient and understood his trust must be earned.

"Yes, it is. Small towns don't always have a lot to give counseling services."

Dave looked around at her stuff.

"What do other people come here to talk about?"

She shrugged, "Mostly whatever hurts them – bad home life, overwhelming burdens, worries about the future."

"Are . . . are most of them hopeless?"

"No," her voice was gentle but firm with a sense of security, "no one is hopeless."

Dave popped his knuckles.

"How many ga- how many homosexuals come in?"

She was honest, "Going by how many admit to being a homosexual – not a lot. Going by how many express concern over their sexuality, a small faction."

His leg muscles tensed. Fight or flight. The internal need to shove this away came up. Deeper into his core, he wanted to keep talking.

"That's all it takes – once they say it – they're gay?"

"Officially, in a way, yes. They've always been gay, always will be. But they're usually much more themselves after they come out."

He asked most plainly, "How do they know? What makes you – what makes a person gay?"

The woman leaned forward, "It depends on the person. No one gay person is like another. Sexuality itself is fluid. You – people know who they are, deep down. They just need to find it."

Dave looked at her. His eyes explored hers while he searched inside himself for the next question. There didn't seem to be one.

"Can I ask you a question now?"

The young man nodded slightly.

"The only thing I can ever really do is help people be happy with themselves. I want to ask you: are you happy?"

"No."

She reached out, extending her hand to him.

"Then let me help you in any way that I can."

Dave fumbled with his own hands, popping the knuckles again.

"You don't even know my name."

She left her hand out.

"You have to tell me it."

Dave got up.

"I've got to go."

There wasn't disappointment like he expected, only a small bit of sadness.

"You know where we are."

He nodded again and tried his best to give her a reassuring smile.

"Thanks."

Walking out her took a look again at the people in the building. The helpers all seemed as welcoming and comforting as the woman he talked to.

The people seeking help seemed different than before. In them, her saw something very similar. A look of bewilderment, anger, and anguish. It was quite close to what he stared down in the mirror every morning. On the way home, he made a decision.

"Where the fuck were you?"

Even expecting it, the harsh bellowing shook Dave.

He tried standing firm, "Out."

The man strode up to his son, grabbed him by the shirt collar and held him against the wall.

"Do not take that tone with me. You missed class and practice – they called me at work. That kind of embarrassment is something I can't tolerate."

Despite the urge to wince at the weight pressing on him, Dave held a nonchalant attitude. It further angered his father.

"You just couldn't hack it, could you? You worthless piece of shit. You just aren't strong enough to be a real man that can honor his family."

That was it. The last push he needed. Dave shoved his father away. In the pause, he noticed his mother and brother standing close by.

"Is this how it is?"

He wiped the heated tears coming forth.

"I'm either a man who is and does expected of him or I'm shit? And I'm just supposed to take flack for being different? Even give others shit for the same thing?"

He leaned on a nearby chair, taking a breath.

"Fuck that and fuck all of you."

Over the shock, the patriarch grabbed the boy's arm.

"You think you're too good for this family? You don't deserve what we have."

Dave shook his head and pulled his arm away.

"Everyone deserves love. I don't get that here. I never will because I'm not what you want."

The maternal figure spoke out, "What do you mean, Davey?"

Dave looked at his mother before going back to staring down his father.

"I kissed Kurt Hummel."

Both the mother and the older son walked out of the room. The father didn't move an inch.

"Get out."

"And what kind of embarrassment are you gonna feel when everyone finds out you kicked out your son for-"

"You'll have one hour to gather your things," he interrupted his son, "and after that you leave and forget everything about the family you had here."

Dave grabbed what he could under the watchful eye of the man disowning him.

Taking his last few steps out of the house, he spoke, "I may not do it soon but when I do . . . tell everyone who I am, you won't be able to avoid it."

The front door forcefully closed, giving him one last shove.

He spent the night drifting through places. He paused when he came to Burt Hummel's garage. He thought back to the one night that Kurt was on the team. After the dance stunt, he looked to the stands for Mr. Hummel's reaction. He seemed impressed. Dave also caught his father's expression – one of rage and disdain. Mr. Karofsky never came to another football game after that night. Dave knew he would never have Burt Hummel for a father. He moved on.

In the morning, the woman at the counseling center walked into her office. A colleague had left messages on her desk. One stuck out – it was crumpled, folded-over piece of paper.

Opening it, it looked like one of the fliers they had posted around town and a messaged was scribbled on the back.

It simply said: 'My name is Dave and I'm gay.'


End file.
